


Uneasy lies the head

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Series: Uneasy lies the head [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Erebor, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Gold Sick Thorin, Lake-town, Love Confessions, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mixup of rooms in Laketown leads to Thorin being comforted by the company’s guide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uneasy lies the head

The corridor in the Master’s house was as silent as the grave, and nearly as cold, and as soon as you had ventured outside your room, you’d cursed yourself for having that long drink of water just before bed. From the tiny window in the bathroom, you could just see snowflakes drifting through the night sky over the houses and boats of Laketown. Now, you crept slowly back down the dark hallway on tiptoes, trying to avoid creaky floorboards, eager to return to the comfort of your bed.

At last, you turned the doorknob and entered your room, shuffling off your shoes as you quickly crawled into bed and burrowed under the woolen blankets, desperate to quiet your shivering. You had just closed your eyes, feeling the chill begin to leave you, when there was a sudden shifting of the feather-stuffed mattress, and you felt a warm, solid presence at your back and heard the reverberation of a soft snore. 

With a sharp gasp, you sat bolt upright in the bed, your commotion startling your unknown companion. In the dim, barely moonlit room, which you now realized – too late – was not your own, you found yourself face to face with your formidable leader, propping himself up in a tense, wary posture.

If it had been anyone else in the company, you could easily have laughed off your mistake and rolled your eyes at the dramatic retelling of the story over breakfast. But in all the weeks you’d spent with Thorin, he had rarely been what you’d call jovial, and you prepared to feel the added coldness of his disapproval because the company’s guide apparently needed a map to find her own chamber and had awakened him by stumbling into his bed.

He stared at you with shocked eyes and you scrambled for the edge of the bed, apologizing profusely in a mortified whisper. “I am so sorry… _so_ sorry…I mistook your room for mine. I’m leaving,” you assured him. “Right now.”

Quickly, but not ungently, his hand clasped yours, halting your retreat. You turned, surprised, to look at him. His astonishment had vanished, but his face was clouded with some other, nameless emotion. Was it sadness? Fear? It had never occurred to you before to wonder with what demons Thorin Oakenshield wrestled in the lonely watches of the night. 

The palm of his hand was warm, the skin rough, and your fingers instinctively curled to enclose his, your thumb daring a slow, comforting stroke across his knuckles. In an undertone, he spoke, and the air in the room changed.

“Will you stay?”  


It was more of a plea than a question, and your heart went out to him, knowing that he carried the heavy burden of his lineage every day, silently, stoically, alone.

“Yes.”  


He lay down once again, lifting the blankets, and you slipped beneath them to lie close by his side. Threading your arm between his neck and the pillow, you gently drew his head to your shoulder to rest. After a fleeting moment’s hesitation, you felt him allow himself to melt against you, his head pillowed on the upper curve of your breast, your heartbeat thrumming in his ear. His strong arm embraced your waist firmly, gratefully, and you wrapped your own arms around his shoulders, raking your fingers soothingly through his long hair.

The breath of his sigh ruffled the fabric of your nightgown, and his warmth spread through you as you felt his body gradually grow heavy and relax into sleep. You lay awake for some time, gazing at the hazy shaft of moonlight from the window that cast a faint glow on the opposite wall and listening to the low, rhythmic sound of Thorin’s breathing. Whatever was yet to come for the company, for the heirs of Durin, you would always be glad to have given him these peaceful hours.

Slowly, your own eyes became weary and closed in sleep, with the dwarven King still clasped, protected, in your arms. Losing your way in the Master’s house had been your accident, but Thorin’s blessing.


	2. The course of true love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company's guide deals with her growing feelings for Thorin.

You woke the next morning alone in the bed, your outstretched arm lying on a cold pillow. Dragging your eyelids open, you blinked rapidly to bring the silent room into focus and your gaze fell upon Thorin, fully dressed and standing at the window, his sharp profile lit by the pale morning sunlight. Your stirring beneath the blankets drew his attention, and his head turned toward you.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

“Good morning.” Slowly, you sat up, running your hands through your hair and drawing up your knees to hug them to your chest, and he looked again to the window.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” you answered, hesitating briefly before asking, “did you?”

“Yes…thank you.” He paused, his eyes flickering to the floor before meeting yours again. “I must apologize for imposing upon you.”

“There was no imposition,” you assured him.

“Again, I thank you.”

You nodded, feeling unsettled by his distant politeness. Throwing back the bedcovers, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for your shoes. “I’d better go and dress for breakfast,” you said. The bed frame creaked, and you turned to find Thorin sitting at its foot, looking curiously at you.

“Why did you stay with me?”

You paused, taken aback, considering. “Because you asked me to.” It was the simple answer, if not the whole truth.

He digested this for a moment, then asked, his tone unusually timid, “only that?”

You watched him stare down at his boots, his sturdy, powerful hands resting on his thighs, and found yourself wondering, irresistibly, what it might be like to be loved by him. The thought of those strong hands reaching for you in the night for an altogether different reason came unbidden into your mind, and you looked studiously at your own feet, weighing your words. “Because I see your worries grow heavier with every step you take toward the mountain, and I would lighten them if I can.”

A wry smile curled his lips, and still he did not meet your glance. “So I have earned your pity.”

“No,” you shook your head, with a small smile. “You are far too formidable for my pity. But you have my compassion.” Impulsively, the words tumbling forth in little more than a whisper, you added, “and I will be here for you…if you should need me.”

He turned to you at last, his blue eyes looking so searchingly into yours that you suddenly felt the need to guard your thoughts, lest they be laid bare under his gaze. His calloused hand cautiously grazed yours. “Thank you,” he said softly.

You smiled, slowly fluttering your fingers to meet his touch, and after a moment, as though a spell had broken, Thorin stood and moved to the door. “Let me make sure that the corridor is empty,” he said. “I would not have you subject to gossip for your kindness to me.”

“Of course,” you replied, putting on a brisk manner, “thank you.”

Upon finding that the rest of the dwarves were still abed, you left him and slipped next door to your own room. That night, as snowflakes continued to blanket Laketown in lacy whiteness, you would lie in your bed, huddled against the encroaching cold with only a strange, unexpected emptiness for company. When weariness at last overtook you, you slept alone, little knowing that on the other side of the wall, Thorin was summoning all of his self-restraint to do the same.

* * *

The still silence of Erebor seemed thick and heavy, as though the entire weight of the mountain pressed upon you as you made your way through its torchlit halls. You had awakened in the small hours of the night with a disquieted mind and an overwhelming urge to go to Thorin. Every day since he had returned to the halls of his fathers had been an ordeal of watching his kindness, his loyalty, his honor, his desire to do right – every quality that had stirred your heart to fondness – slowly consumed by the tyranny of a fierce and feverish greed.

He sat on the throne, swathed in armor and furs, the crown heavy on his head. In the shifting, dancing light of the braziers around him, you could see the slump of his shoulders, his vague, restless gaze. His chin lifted slightly as you approached, and his face wore a look that was simultaneously curious and wary. “You,” he murmured.

You mustered a smile. “Hello, Thorin.” Casting a glance around the dark chamber, you asked gently, “what are you doing in here?”

A suspicious frown furrowed his brow. “The King belongs on his throne.”

With an effort to keep your tone light, you took a step closer to where he sat. “Thorin, it’s the middle of the night, and you haven’t slept in days. Perhaps you might rest in your chambers,” you ventured. “I can stay with you, if you like. Just like I did in Laketown…don’t you remember?”

Was it wishful thinking, or had a flicker of warmth appeared, fleetingly, in his eyes? “I remember,” he whispered, looking intently at you. Even as you dared to hope, his expression hardened, and he turned his face away from you. “No,” he said firmly. “My place is here. You go back to bed.”

“But Thorin, I–”

“Go to bed,” he repeated. A warning tone had crept into his voice.

You swallowed your words and nodded, backing away. “Very well.” 

With a last look at him, you turned and left the throne room, the latest in the line of anxious souls who had been drawn to the sleepless, unraveling King like moths to the flame, only to be rebuffed, scorched. Your mind was filled with fear for him, and your heart ached with longing to shelter him in your arms once more, to tell him that this time, it was more than compassion that had brought you to his side. 

* * *

“He’s asking for you.” 

Balin’s urgent voice startled you when he appeared at your elbow in the Great Hall, where you’d spent the hours since Thorin’s army had returned from battle passing out blankets and mugs of hot tea, filling basins with water, and gathering clean rags to bind wounds.

“Thorin?” you breathed, going pale as you turned to the white-haired dwarf with your heart in your throat.

“Aye,” he nodded, “come, lassie.”

Laying your hand on the arm of a passing healer, you gave away the stack of bandages you were carrying and hurried to follow Balin’s quick steps toward Thorin’s chambers. An ever-tightening knot seemed to have formed in the pit of your belly; you had heard nothing of Thorin’s condition but that the noble skin-changer had borne him, bleeding and unconscious, back to the mountain, and you were certain that to stand witness at his deathbed would be your undoing.

Balin led you into the King’s suite, through the sitting room and to the door of Thorin’s bedchamber, where he gave you an encouraging nod. With a trembling hand, you grasped the handle and pushed the heavy door open, fearful of what you might find.

Thorin was sitting up in bed, supported by a stack of pillows, wincing as Oin bandaged his foot. He was battered and weary, and he would have new scars by which to remember this harrowing day, but he was alive, and the smile that lit his face when he looked up to see you made his beauty outshine his wounds. Tears of relief sprang into your eyes, and you hastily wiped them away with the back of your hand.

The gesture did not escape his notice, and he looked wonderingly at you. “After all I’ve done, you still have tears for me?”

You chuckled sheepishly. “So it would seem.”

Oin finished his work and, with an admonition to Thorin to rest, packed the tools of his trade back into his bag and left, patting your arm kindly as he went. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, and you and Thorin were left alone. He gazed wordlessly at you for a moment before holding out his hand.

“Come close to me? Please?”

You went to his side, taking his hand in yours and sitting on the edge of the bed to face him. “Are you badly hurt?” you asked.

“Nothing that time will not mend,” he answered bracingly. He was silent for a long moment as he looked down at your joined hands, brushing his thumb slowly back and forth over your fingers. “You told me that you would be here, and so you have been, though I was wretched and unworthy of your kindness,” he said quietly. “Forgive me.”

You placed your other hand over his, holding it between your palms. “I do. You were not yourself.”

His piercing eyes wandered your face as though he meant to memorize it. “I do need you. After that night in Laketown, I longed to say so, longed to be in your arms again, but I was so stubborn and blind. I allowed myself to be consumed by the quest…and by the gold,” he admitted, dropping his eyes. “I have no right to ask anything of you…” His voice trailed off, and you shook your head and reached to carefully stroke his soft beard, compelling him to look at you again. 

“Thorin, ask what you will. If it is within my power to give, you shall have it.”

He paused, caressing a lock of your hair between his fingertips. “I wish for you to stay here in Erebor,” he said at last, fervently. “I wish for you to give me the chance to win your heart, to love you, care for you…to be the man you deserve.” His face continued to plead, even as his voice fell silent.

In answer, you leaned forward and slowly, gently pressed your lips to his, feeling his sigh as his warm hand moved to rest on the back of your neck. You kissed his bruised cheek and rested your own against it, closing your eyes contentedly as his arm crept around your back to embrace you. When you sat back to look at him again, his eyes held a new light as he spoke, softly, hopefully.

“Will you stay?”

Your heart went out to him, knowing that all that had passed between you – every failed hope and missed chance – had brought you together in the end, and you needed him, just as he needed you. You smiled.

“Yes.”


End file.
